


Priorities, Priorities

by colonelborkmundus



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Gen, Gift Fic, lamenting non-existent sex life, selphie and the word "fuck", things that go boom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-30
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 11:49:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonelborkmundus/pseuds/colonelborkmundus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's nothing like impending doom and destruction to remind you that you can't remember the last time you got laid. Occupational hazard and all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Priorities, Priorities

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thene/gifts).



> Prompt: "Selphie ponders her sex life. Bonus points if she chooses a particularly odd time/situation in which to do so."
> 
> This is an exercise that isn't shameporn to help get me back into writing. :p

  
Well, this sucks, she can’t help but think to herself. There’s no better way to put it, or is there? This is not a booyaka moment. Actually, it’s anything but a booyaka moment. It’s a super anti-booyaka moment, that’s what it is, and it sucks harder than a Bite Bug with a thirst for tourist blood in Balambian June -- and that’s pretty hard.

Because even though the missile coordinates have been properly messed with and redirected, and somewhere on the other side of Gaia, Squall is doing for Balamb what she could not for Trabia (oh Hyne), the base is doomed to self-destruct in nary a moment, and though Quistis, Irvine, and herself have managed to render the Galbadian army’s latest war weapon into a smoking heap of expensive scrap metal, all possible escape routes are blocked off, and this entire base is a veritable minefield of explosions and shrapnel.

It isn’t pretty.

Put simply, they’re beyond fucked.

The blood is pounding in her head; she’s running off of pure adrenaline. The base is beginning to blow up to bits and pieces all around them, all in seeming slow motion. Impulsively, she takes one look at their mechanical enemy and drags both Irvine and Quistis over to it; maybe they can climb inside and have a ghost of a chance of survival. It’s a long shot, and very quick thinking on her part, and it’s worth a try. They’re totally fucked, anyway.

So they climb in hurriedly one by one, slam the hatch shut, and slink into their own respective spots, and individually face their final moments quietly as the explosions from outside buffet the vehicle.

She feels like an accomplished failure -- hey, at least Balamb has a chance of being okay, right? -- but Trabia, oh Trabia -- and her heart sinks down to her boots in the utmost despair as she remembers her beautiful mountainous homeland, the place she grew up in, and all the wonderful friends she made before transferring -- oh Hyne, how she misses them! But look, here she is hacking into Galbadian military computers and blowing up evil missile bases to smithereens, so at least she can go down in the history books as a hero of some sort. Or a hired terrorist. Whatever, it’s all the same: this explosion totally has her name written all over it.

“Selphie Tilmitt was here! BOOYAKA BOOM, MOTHERFUCKERS!”

So at least there’s that. Trabia would be so proud.

She glances over at Quistis, who, ever the professional, refuses to sit on her ass and wait out their deaths in favor of desperately finding out if there’s any chance of reviving this scrap heap before it’s damaged enough to really blow. That gives Selphie the idea to bust open one of the panels and see if she can work her magic and hot wire this fucker. There’s hope for them yet!

Irvine is the quietest out of all of him. He’s no good when it comes to rewiring consoles; he’s just slumped up against the vehicle wall looking so    
sad.   
He looks up at her with those sad, blue, puppy dog eyes and her heart skips a beat just so.

They’re in the middle of a life and death situation, absolutely fucked, and Selphie cannot help but muse about her regrets, especially her near non-existent sex life; when was the last time she was properly fucked, anyway? And not in the oh-shit-we’re-all-going-to-die sort of way?

Hyne, there’s nothing like impending doom and destruction to summon what’s left of a girl’s libido.

Class, committees, and training always came first, didn’t they? She was always so busy, she had trouble enough finding time to eat (that is, if she even remember to without a nagging friend’s help), let alone resolve any sexual frustration.

But there were times, for the record, just not as much as she would have liked before meeting some premature end. Like this one.

It’d been a while, that’s for sure. At least in her terms. And that was before she transferred to Balamb. Then the field exam happened, and then her first proper SeeD assignment and the wild ride that ensued, and now this.

It’d been so long she may as well have grown her virginity back, figuratively speaking.

Oh Hyne, what a sad thought.

She holds Irvine’s gaze for a moment and regrets, regrets being such a bloody chickenshit, regrets dancing around and putting on her cheery, airy facade, regrets not capitalizing on the undeniable mess of feelings and attraction she clearly feels for this man (denial is a river    
somewhere,   
Selph), this handsome, suave, charming, maddeningly familiar stranger.

She takes a deep breath, stops messing with the wiring long enough to launch herself into a hug for Quistis and Irvine -- they look surprised, don’t they know her by now? -- and throws herself entirely into getting this bad boy to work.

Because Selphie Tilmitt refuses to die without kicking and screaming the entire way through, and the thought of dying after practically regrowing her virginity is profoundly humiliating for her. She still has a Garden Festival to plan, and by Shiva it isn’t their time yet.

The machine comes to life with a shudder; the monitor is patchy in places, but they can manage well enough. At least well enough to escape before the walls can no longer resist the explosions.

Hyne be praised, they might just live to see another day.

And, with a little luck, she can take care of that regrown virginity problem.

Priorities, priorities.


End file.
